It wouldn’t take much to sing me to sleep right now. I’m enjoying a quiet afternoon on a day that has felt like Michigan summer since the sun came up. I finally got a good night’s sleep last night and woke early, ready for my day. Work was good; I’m finding myself writing poems in my head (in my mouth?) when I take my four month-old charge on our walks each day. There is something quiet and instinctual about walking suburban blocks, pushing a stroller and watching this baby girl slumping into sleep, lulled by the iambs of the wheels ticking off sidewalk blocks.
Quiet. That is what has been missing from my life in recent times. The internal beat of my days has been off, ticking frantically under the collapsing weight of imposed responsibility, fear. But as of late, I’m finding myself busy but happy, tired but fulfilled. I’m reading, writing, editing, painting, re-learning linear equations and polysyllabic words. I’m walking miles, pushing a stroller and reclaiming my internal rhythm, beat. I am embracing form.
